


but what are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?

by Vellev



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (through fucking), ...or is it, Angst, Barebacking, Character Study, Cheating, Co-dependence, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Cum dripping, Depression, Dirty Talk, FE3H Kink Meme, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Sex, Relationship Study, Repression, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, felix angst with a meager side of emotionally unsatisfying sex, you’re gonna suffer...but you’re gonna be horny about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vellev/pseuds/Vellev
Summary: "This was what the Fraldarius men have always been good for, he thinks. He watched his father wither away with his love of Lambert, forgetting his own children as he lived to keep his king’s only living memory alive. He didn’t even get to watch Glenn fall for Dimitri, he never got to see a body. And now, here he is, eagerly letting his life be consumed with a king he cannot leave, but also cannot truly have."When the new Shield of Fearghus’ flirts with a suitor at a wedding party celebrating his king’s marriage to a Sreng woman, Dimitri has to remind him who he belongs to. An interpretation of Dimitri and Felix's shared ending Post-Azure Moon.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius - mentioned
Comments: 15
Kudos: 150
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	but what are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?

**Author's Note:**

> technically based on a kink meme prompt, but apparently, felix is much too sad to simply get railed on a balcony and be happy about it. 
> 
> [Kink Meme prompt. I'm so sorry.](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=320988#cmt320988)
> 
> And all the thanks to my lovely beta, [GuiltyBystanders.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuiltyBystanders/profile) I love you, bitch. I ain't never gonna stop loving you, bitch.

It would be the understatement of the century to say Felix hated parties. There was nothing about the affair to like. The music was insufferable and over decadent, the food more sugar than anything, and the company grew more and more abysmal every time. He hated everything about them, he hated the dancing, the public drunkenness, the way couples paired off easily in the bright yellowy lighting. He’d be stuffed into some too-tight suit that made him feel bare, fabric thin enough that a knife could stab through it easily, but structured enough Felix could never raise his arms up enough to defend himself. Every conversation partner he has would be more dismal than the last, and Felix would consider drinking himself senseless if he hadn’t cited drinking as one of his main problems with the whole party procedure.

There’s only so much he can expect. At twenty-five years old, right hand of the king, and still quite openly single, there are many merchants and nobles alike who want to weasel a way into his life. Now that it’s public knowledge that his crest is a major one, everyone who’s ever wanted their child—or their child’s child—to bear a crest is wiggling out of the woodworks. In a matter of years, Felix has begun to understand just what made Sylvain so miserable for all those years. 

He never tries to get out of the parties, though. No. Quite the opposite. There’s a very particular reason why he attends them, one he’s not planning on forgoing any time soon. A reason with shining, flaxen hair, and a smile that over the past few years has gotten so close to growing more genuine. Of course, this party he had to attend. The king only gets married once, of course. Or twice, he supposes in this instance. The ceremony was in Sreng, with days of partying, and now the days of partying continued in Fhirdiad. Felix’s feet hurt. 

Though it’s been over a year since Dimitri’s last episode, Felix watches him closely. Dimitri knows this, of course, would rather it that way. Without Dedue here, Felix knows the constant doubt in his mind. They’ve spoken about it before, how Dimitri’s mind is like a pot of water set to boil. Watch it, and bubbles will never rise, keep your eye away, and it’ll have boiled over. Dimitri requires constant observation, but rare full attention. So Felix watches him. He watches him get crowned, watches him collapse, gather up the pieces. He watches him give speeches, watches him get yelled at by a little old lady in Gideon territory. He watches him agree to a marriage with his mind more than his heart, watches him marry himself away to a Sreng woman he’s spoken to all of five times beforehand. The world turns on, Dimitri collapses and gathers himself up again, and Felix watches. Watching a life happen from Dimitri’s bedside. 

Felix had spent so many years afraid he was becoming his brother, living up to some expectation he could never truly fulfill. It’s laughable now, how, underneath his nose, he’s become his father. Royal bedwarmer, right? At some point during the war, he’d found himself in Dimitri’s arms, and made a home there. His teenage years had offered some respite from Dimitri’s presence, but now, just as he had been as a child, he is glued to the boar’s side. The emotions he has for Dimitri are more than he’s capable of putting into words. He’s tried before. He deeply despises him; deeply loves him; is unable to unattach himself from the man. At some point, in the years of tragedy, war, madness, and victory, something in his heart became inextricably connected to his king. So he stays in the royal bed, putting his emotions into frenzied kisses rather than words. Action has always suited him better.

So, when it comes to suitors, he has trouble just passively ignoring them. That wouldn’t be any good, would it? Sure, he could just reject each one immediately, and let himself mope around the outskirts of the party, in every familiar nook and cranny of the castle layout. He’d done that for the past three years, though, and one can only trace the perimeter of the party silently for so long. The king is getting married, after all. Surely he’s allowed some freedom at his own wedding party. 

So he entertains his suitors. Some of them, at least. The strange fathers asking to introduce him to their daughters, he shoos away without hesitation or remorse. But who is he to say no to a pair of blue eyes blinking up at him? Who is he to reject a pair of soft hands pushing a glass of cider into his own? 

This is the first time he’s let one, in particular, get so handsy, though. It’s another Sreng man, perhaps part of Dimitri’s new wife’s retinue, perhaps even her relative. This one is sunkissed, skin warm and tan. He guides Felix about the dance floor and only laughs when Felix steps on his feet. He feeds him wine and champagne and cider, and holds cold meats to Felix’s mouth, expecting him to eat it from his fingers. Felix does. 

The Sreng man is perfectly outgoing, willing to fill the conversation when Felix cannot. After dancing, they take the stairs to talk up on the second level of the ballroom, so they can see the swirling of dresses dancing below. Away from the hustle and bustle of the party as much as possible, they can hear each other over the music far more than when they were dancing.  
The man can talk of the battles between their countries of years ago like Felix’s friends' families had not died for the cause, just as Felix can speak of the Sreng suppression efforts of years past. They talk battle and they talk sex, and Felix can nearly imagine himself falling for the man if he didn’t think his mind was broken, incapable of that for years and years before this poor sucker ever had a chance. It might have been embarrassing that Felix never really heard the man’s name, but he hadn’t cared to. There would be no point to it.

He spies yellow hair from across the room, on the first level, and his eyes wander. He wonders if Dimitri is sitting on his throne, again. Ever since the war, he’s been too awkward to dance.

A hand touches Felix’s chin and guides his gaze back up to brown eyes. The hand was not as soft as some suitors, but with spots of roughness reminding Felix that this man, too, was a veteran. “Distracted so soon?”

“Not in the slightest,” Felix says, still never able to hide the bite in his voice. Most of the suitors pretend to like it, though, and this man was no different. “Are you really so worried I’ll get bored of you?” He’s never tried to be easy to flirt with.

“At risk of sounding overconfident, I think I can keep you entertained.” The man’s hand releases his chin and slides down to touch the front of Felix’s jacket, against his chest. Felix notes that Dimitri’s hands are much larger—when he presses them against Felix’s chest in bed, the fingers splay over his skin, untold strength holding back. 

“Is that so? I’d like to see you try.” Felix swirls the glass of cider in his hand. He thinks of how Dimitri used to have trouble holding glasses without crushing them in his fingers, needing metal cups and goblets instead. “Anyways, I don’t know how I feel about a man who won’t risk overconfidence.”

“I’m surprised at how you feel about men in general. I was under the impression that the men of Faerghus preferred the bed of the fairer sex.” From the second floor, they can see the jubilation of the wedding crowd, still dancing on as Felix and the man rest their own sore feet. Dimitri’s new wife has moved from her smaller throne beside him, and dances amongst her subjects, while the king sits alone. 

“I’ve seen women in battle before. Nothing fairer about them.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Anyway, all a marriage is about is making children, passing down your crest.” The cool breeze of the Fhirdiad autumn is welcome through the open door to a small balcony. “My suspicions are more Faerghan men than you think have boys warming their bedsheets.” 

“And you?” the man asks. His hand lowers from where he’s laid it against Felix’s chest, to his hip, and rests it there. The gesture is so _open._ Anyone in the room could be staring. He wonders if he’ll get an earful about this from any other suitors tomorrow. Well, he needed an excuse to challenge someone to a duel soon, he’s been getting restless. “Have you warmed a man’s bedsheets before?” The man seems to think that the slight flush on Felix’s cheek is evidence of something he’s said.

He supposes there’s no reason to hide, either. Dimitri and his wife were fairly open about the purposes of these parties anyway, the more ties bound there, the better. The more courtship announcements between their countries next month, the better. He lets his free hand touch the man’s arm. The Sreng man is taller than him but nowhere close to how Dimitri towers over him. “You have no idea,” Felix tells him, leaning into him, close. 

“Show me?” Felix’s eyes scan across the dancing crowd, and there the king sits at his throne, new wife beside him. He nods. 

And that’s how Felix ends up pinned against one of the exterior walls of the castle on the balcony, a Sreng man’s mouth at his neck. The man’s leg is pressed up between his against the wall, keeping him secure there. 

And Felix could grow used to this. He could melt into this man’s arms, be his for the night. It’s almost so easy to imagine, falling for some foreign man, actually marrying him, finding himself in a new city, a new country. Building a life. Of course, he never could, but it’s a fantasy he’s had before, when out for a run, preparing a meal. To belong to someone, to hold hands with them in public, to kiss them in front of the world.

But that’s not quite Felix’s style, is it? Holding hands with someone, being some man’s kept whore. (Like that was any better than where he was now.) He can’t truly picture himself in that life. He can imagine it, sure, but not with him there. Just… some man, long dead, body left to rot unburied and forgotten on a battlefield. Felix now has died dozens of times over, he thinks sometimes, and a life like that isn’t for him. He’s on this world to fight, he thinks, and little else. It’s the only reason why the goddess kept him alive through the war, he’s convinced. Why else would she? 

But he can play pretend, at least. Pretend he’s not as much of a ghost as the Glenn Dimitri still hears in his head sometimes. Pretend he’s not a dead man walking. Pretend that he belongs in the arms of some gorgeous Sreng diplomat, and not a grave, his cold dead body still moving only to find the next fight. He can pretend that he knows the man’s name. 

He lets himself fall into rhythm with the man and rocks his hips against his. He lets his hands clutch at the man’s blonde hair, but. It’s too short, not enough to grab onto, and instantly, it feels wrong. He shoves the feeling aside, closes his eyes.

He can only pretend so long, though, as suddenly the man in his arms is roughly thrown from him. 

And ah, yes. 

The boar.

How could he have forgotten? Dimitri looks like hell, the crazed look back in his eye, and it’s so familiar to Felix that it nearly calms him. 

“Get off,” he tells the Sreng man, not yelling yet. Ha, it’s almost funny how the man cowers in the presence of the beast of a king, and Felix thinks, surprisingly for the first time that night, _Pathetic._ “I will not have you rutting in my palace like animals in heat.” 

The Sreng man doesn’t even try to argue, scampering away at the frightening, deep voice of the King of all of Fodlan. Felix nearly laughs. Yes, he was right. No soft Sreng man, with a voice like honey and lips like petals, can satisfy a man like him, not after he’s had Dimitri all these years. 

“You didn’t have to terrify the poor man. We are still in negotiations, you know,” Felix says, with a sneer in his voice. He hadn’t even considered this an opportunity to tie Dimitri further around his finger. He can see the anger in Dimitri’s eye, though, and knows all too well how to turn that anger to lust.

“ _You_ ,” Dimitri growls.

“Me,” Felix says, and can’t stop the smug smile that comes to his face.

And then, Dimitri is on him, pinning him back against the wall, and yes. This was what home really felt like. 

The wall feels a little colder than when the Sreng man pinned him to it, the cold autumn night air seeping into the rock. Felix looks up at Dimitri with the same confidence and defiance in his eyes that’s always there.

“Is this what happens when I leave you out of my sight for one hour?”

“And here I thought you were the one that required constant vigilance,” Felix says and brings his hands to the dip of Dimitri’s waist. 

“Who was that man?” Dimitri asks, his mouth close to Felix’s ear. It’s funny, with the boar’s unforgivably bad posture, he barely hunches his back more than usual to crowd Felix.

“I don’t know. Didn’t catch his name.” Dimitri seems discontented with the answer, aimlessly frustrated, and Felix loves it. “Lost your words, boar?”

“Would you really lay with anyone who pleased it?”

Felix sucks in a breath. Would he? Would he have laid with the Sreng man if given the opportunity? He considers it. Hm. It would have been nice to spend a night or two between his sheets, in his arms. Sometimes he does long to feel another man’s warmth on his chest, feel hands grasp his as they shake in pleasure. He wouldn’t mind bedding the man—he knows there’s more than a little fun he could have had with him. But, of course, could the Sreng man handle him in bed? Was he equipped to know what to do when Felix broke in his arms? Did he understand that sometimes when Felix closed his eyes, there was only blood and gore, some unknown world of the dead haunting him? Would he understand that while orgasm didn’t come every time, Felix still craved the preciousness of a body against his own? Did he know not to put his hand at Felix’s neck? No. He knew nothing of Felix, nothing of everything he had seen.

But Dimitri. Dimitri knows all of him. Dimitri knows every square inch of Felix’s body like he knows every square inch of Felix’s memory. He knows everything that has happened to him, every feeling he’s had. Felix has told him everything, and it was Dimitri’s arms he’d cried into when the battle was won, and Felix mourned that there was no more reason to fight, the loss of his sole purpose.

This was what the Fraldarius men have always been good for, he thinks. He watched his father wither away with his love of Lambert, forgetting his own children as he lived to keep his king’s only living memory alive. He didn’t even get to watch Glenn fall for Dimitri, he never got to see a body. And now, here he is, eagerly letting his life be consumed with a king he cannot leave, but also cannot truly have. 

“I didn’t think you cared,” Felix says. He spits it out, like all his words, but he feels Dimitri pause, if only for a moment.

“Of course I care,” Dimitri says, voice soft again. “If you truly wanted to sleep with other people, Fel—”

Felix twists his head and captures Dimitri’s mouth in a kiss. He didn’t want to hear it. Not now, not while thoughts swarm his mind like ghosts in a graveyard. No, he thinks. What he wants is Dimitri, now, on this balcony, wanting him. Seeing him. Feeling him. 

Kissing Dimitri is comfortable. The boar’s mouth fits against his perfectly, and they know the ebb and flow of each other’s bodies. Felix has yet to lay with a man other than Dimitri and is thankful the Sreng man hadn’t tried to kiss him. He doesn’t know if he would know how. 

He bites Dimitri’s lower lip as he parts from him. “I _said_ —” he takes Dimitri’s hand in his, and removes it from the wall as he puts it against his own body. He guides Dimitri’s palm, trailing it down his body. He still wears his military dress uniform, even though they haven’t been at war for three years—he hasn’t found anything that fits his body better. Finally, he draws Dimitri’s hands to his crotch and grinds against it. “I didn’t think you cared.”

Dimitri intakes a breath, and despite being the most earnest man in history, he understands Felix’s overt subtext. His expression grows dark again, his hand tenses against Felix’s crotch, and squeezes.

“This is what you want? You want me to remind you who you belong to?” Dimitri asks, his voice low, and dark, and yes. Felix shuts his eyes. This is the man he longed for. 

Felix only grinds against Dimitri’s hand in response. 

“I don’t even see the point of flirting with some other nothing. Everyone here already knows who you belong to.” Dimitri’s hand comes to Felix’s hair, which is in desperate need of another trimming. He hates it when he looks in his mirror and the face of the man he’s becoming is familiar to him. “Except for you, perhaps. Shall I remind you?”

“If that’s what you’re good for, boar,” Felix is able to spit out before the hand in Felix’s hair pulls, and his head is rudely yanked to the side. Dimitri doesn’t kiss there yet, though, and instead lingers, in silence. It takes a moment for Felix to put together what he’s doing.

Dimitri is inspecting him, and from the rough noise of his voice, he’s not pleased. “You let him mark you.”

“You were busy.”

“I’m always busy,” Dimitri grumbles. One hand on Felix’s groin, the other in his hair, he just holds him there, steady.

“Forgetting your hobbies?”

“I didn’t think my hobbies needed constant reminders that they’re _owned_.” 

Felix groans, and grinds himself against Dimitri’s hand again. “Then do something about it.” 

“Is this what you want, Felix? Really? You want me to fuck you right here, on this balcony. You want me to stuff you full, and leave you leaking?” Dimitri begins moving his hand, groping against Felix’s clothed cock, as he grinds up against him. “Want me to lay my own marks over this repulsive man’s, so everyone here knows that you, Felix, are an owned man?” 

Dimitri bites down on Felix’s neck, hard, making good on his promise. Held there, Felix feels almost like a victim in one of Ashe’s vampire novels, as stuck as the mouth sucking at his neck. Even with the hand against his cock, the biting doesn’t feel like it’s meant to turn him on—no, it’s Dimitri’s intention to mark him, and only that. The very idea of it makes Felix throb in his trousers. 

And Dimitri bites him again, again, and again. He shoves Felix’s head in the other direction, so he can mark the other side of his neck. In the war, Felix had worn the marks of battle proudly as well, but only now does he think that he received those fighting for his king in the same way. He’s been wearing Dimitri’s marks for far longer than they’d been bedding each other. 

Dimitri’s hand shifts to the ties on Felix’s trousers, and fiddles with it, so Felix brings his own hands down to unbutton them himself. Dimitri’s hand weaves through his clothing and underclothing until skin touches skin. Felix remembers he has hands and brings them to grope at Dimitri’s waist again. 

Dimitri strokes him and bites him, and Felix feels his mind cloud, and his thoughts slow as he lets Dimitri use his body, draw small noises from him.

_Felix remembers the first time he noticed the marks on his father’s neck. He was only small, sitting on his father’s lap. His head only came to the surface of the war table, so he was at the perfect level to see all of the pieces move across the map. That soon after the death of his mother, Rodrigue had kept Felix close at hand at every waking moment, but also spent every moment needing to do something. They were helping the Gautier’s plan a battle with Sreng, then, but the Gautier sons were playing with each other, and combined, they’re much too loud for Felix. Instead, he sits at the table, playing with a little puzzle in his hands—something made of wood, that needed to be arranged in a particular way. When he gazes up at his father, from underneath, he can see a dark red mark on his chin, close to his ear. It’s near the spot that his father can never seem to remember to shave, that Felix often points out, teasing. So, when he raises his arm to point out the red bruise, he doesn’t expect his father’s icy stare, or to be deposited from his lap. The tip of his finger that touched his father tingles with the cold, so he sits down elsewhere to play with his puzzle._

In the present, after so long Felix almost fears Dimitri intends to keep him on the edge all night, the boar finally parts from his neck. Looks at his handiwork. Tugs Felix’s hair the other way, inspects the other side. He nods, satisfied, and takes his hands off Felix. As he wanders away, Felix is too deep in himself to even wonder what Dimitri’s doing. He watches blankly as Dimitri closes the doors that lead out the balcony, leaving them outside in the cold together. The curtains get drawn, and they are alone.

Dimitri turns back to Felix, who still stands against the wall, exposed.

The King unbuttons his pants, and the Shield of Faerghus sinks to his knees. 

The weight of Dimitri’s cock is familiar in his mouth. In a different time, a different place, a different lifetime, Felix would take his time with it. He would pepper him with kisses, lick his length over and over. Dimitri has a cock worth worshipping, and Felix would give it the reverence it was owed. But, they’re still clothed, standing on a balcony outside a party, Dimitri’s new wife waiting inside. So Felix sucks him deeply, sucks him like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. He holds him in his mouth, bobs his head, uses his tongue to trail up and down Dimitri’s dick. Dimitri’s hand tangles in his hair, tugging. He uses one hand to keep Dimitri in place, so he can jerk him as he suckles on the head. He practices what he knows, takes Dimitri deep into his mouth until it touches the back of his throat, then deeper. Dimitri shakes above him. “Felix…”

On his knees in front of Dimitri, cock in his mouth, Felix knows what he’s doing. It’s like fighting in a battle—constant danger, everything to be anxious about—but he finds his mind empty, and his body goes through the motions for him. Here, thoughts of death and war and ghosts leave his head, and his mind is at peace.

He sucks Dimitri for a long while, until Dimitri’s hand pulls his head up by the hair, removing him. Dimitri looks down at him a while, just looking. Admiring, perhaps. Felix imagines he looks like the whore he is, covered in love marks, lips red and swollen, hair pulled from its tie. 

“Did you bring the oil?” Dimitri asks, after a few moments.

Felix nods and begins to dig in the pockets of his jacket. He and Dimitri always keep a bottle on hand, never knowing when the boar’s urges will resurface.

He stands and begins unbuckling a boot. Dimitri unscrews the bottle of oil. 

He’s able to remove one of his uniform boots, and the pant leg underneath it, and can pull his trousers down to the top of the other boot. It’s awkward but it lets him forgo unbuckling the other one, though, and as Dimitri slathers oil on his fingers, Felix doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.

He leans up against the wall, his arms and his face pressed against the rock, bare ass tilted back. Dimitri’s hands are on him in a second. If they were washed first, Dimitri’s tongue would be on him, but Felix is thankful it’s not. Dancing builds up quite a sweat, and he’s too desperate to wait. Instead, Dimitri’s oiled finger enters him smoothly and without fanfare, and he sighs in contentment. It feels right, correct, like how the world should be.

Dimitri opens him up with his fingers, his other hand on Felix’s back, holding him bent. They’re both silent, save for small breaths and sighs and moans that rise up into the cold air of the moonlight night. 

_Felix remembers a cold autumn night, very much like this one, so many years ago. Just a child, the Fhirdiad palace felt too big, too empty. The shadows of maids and houseworkers danced across the walls at random corners, and voices rang through the walls. It had not been his first time at night in the castle—his family visited the royal family quite often. It was, however, his first night at the castle alone. Without his mother’s arms to lie in, his bed had felt too big, too cold. Glenn had always teased him, saying he was too old to still sleep in his mother’s bed, but after her passing, he had never brought it up again. Back in their estate, Felix slept in his own bed, alone. In the castle at Fhirdiad, he slept in the room he and his mother used to stay in, and it all had felt much too big for a boy of his size. He had longed for his mother’s arms around him again, and when he began weeping, he decided he could not stay in that bed any longer._

_The floor had been cold underneath his toes, so he had walked quickly, despite not knowing the way. Sometimes, on nights like that, when the world was too quiet and Felix’s mind too loud, he’d lay in his father’s lap, and his father would tell him stories of great kings and knights while he stroked Felix’s hair._

_The palace at night was not as dark as the Fraldarius estate at night. Instead, there were squares of light shining across the halls from various servants' quarters and rooms. He could tell the castle was still awake and alive, and he had wondered how anyone got any sleep._

_His tears didn’t stop pouring, but his feet took him to where he had been looking for. The door to his father's room had been closed, but light shone through the cracks in the frame. Ah, yes. These were the hours adults were awake. He had put his hand on the doorknob but stopped when one of the sounds of the house became louder and more pronounced than the others._

_There had been the sound of wood creaking methodically, like the banging of a shutter in the wind. A voice—his father’s, he knew that much—groaned, like he was getting stabbed, over and over. He heard breathing, wet and heavy, like a bard gasping for breath before beginning the climactic verse of their song. He didn’t open the door. Instead, he had stood there, tears still wet on his face, and listened. He had heard his father. He had sounded like he was crying himself. A deeper voice, one Felix can barely remember, told Felix’s father to take it like a good whore, and Felix’s father had said he’d do anything to serve his king—said that he wanted him, desperately. He had heard his father beg his king to fuck him harder, say that he wants to forget about the world. There had been more groans, more moans, more grunts, and Felix had backed away from the door._

_Tears had still fallen from his face, but he had forgotten the reason why. He hadn’t listened before he had opened Glenn’s door instead and woken his sleeping brother by throwing himself onto his bed. Glenn had looked surprised for only a moment, before he had taken Felix’s head onto his lap, and had shushed him as Felix cried onto his sleeping pants._

In the present, Felix spreads his legs further for Dimitri to thrust his fingers into his ass. Felix has gotten louder now, soft moans punctuating every few thrusts. Dimitri opens him up smoothly, not lingering too much on nonnecessities, but not so efficient he forgoes pleasure.

When he feels Dimitri pull his fingers from him, and place his other hand on his hip, Felix is expecting the spread of Dimitri’s cock entering him. Instead, the king says, softly, “Come, now, here.” And he’s being led further onto the balcony. The further they go from the building, the closer to the stars, and the colder the night. 

The metal railing of the balcony is hard and cold as snow against the sensitive skin of his stomach where he’s bent over it, but Felix still lets Dimitri guide his bare leg up so his knee rests on top of the railing. He’s splayed out and open, and then, he feels the hot head of Dimitri’s cock against him. Dimitri moans as he breaches him, and squeezes where he holds Felix’s leg up. 

Felix shuts his eyes, letting himself fall victim to the sensations. Sometimes, he was trained, it’s important to take measure of your whole body. Try not to look at anything, try not to hear anything, just feel your body. His shoulders ache a bit, evidence of his abysmal posture day in and day out. His cock hangs hard and swollen between his legs. His ears are cold, his fingers colder where he grasps the bars of the railing. His mouth is still wet and open as he moans at the feeling of Dimitri moving in and out of him. 

Dimitri moves slowly, and he can feel every inch of the slide into him. Dimitri always makes him feel full inside like only he has that last wooden piece of an unsolvable hand puzzle. Felix sometimes wonders if some part of him was lost, left on some distant battlefield, and only Dimitri’s broken heart can mend him.

“Felix…” Dimitri moans, his hands touching against Felix’s clothed back. The boar has always been hot as a furnace, and Felix is grateful for the warmth, even through the layers of his uniform jacket. “Who else's could you be but mine?” Dimitri’s thrusts don’t speed up but grow harder, and Felix can feel him brush all the good spots inside of him. “Who else could give you what you want?”

What he wants. What he wants. What does he want? He wants Dimitri, eye shining, glistening hair. He wants him at every moment. He wants to have tea with him, he wants Dimitri dancing with him at the ball at school. As a child, he wanted Dimitri in every moment, just to stand by his side. Now, he wants Dimitri’s mouth, his kisses, he wants to steal him away and not let anyone see the jewel he’s collected. He wants Dimitri’s heart, all for his own, to hold and never let go. 

And, saints, does he want him. He wants him deeper, wants it to shake him from the core. He wants Dimitri to carve a place inside of him. He wants to be sore the next morning—he always wants to be sore from the feeling of his king inside of him. He wants Dimitri to take what’s he wants, so desperately, dearly wants, Dimitri to want him back.

“No one. Only you,” He replies, voice shaking. He brings his hand down to his cock and realizes that he didn’t even notice when he opened his eyes. He stares at the barren, leafless trees in the garden, already preparing for the harsh Faerghus winter. 

“Who would have ever thought I’d have you? What saint has blessed me? Who looked down on me,” a particularly hard thrust, which has Felix almost losing his footing with his leg still propped up on the railing, “and thought that I deserved to own you? That I deserved to call you my own?”

“Dimitri,” Felix groans, because there’s nothing else in his mind to think about. The speed of Dimitri’s hips pick up, and Felix’s mind feels blank, filled only with thoughts of his king.

“There’s a whole room of people in there, and half of them wish to be where I am right now, the other half below you.” Where Dimitri finds the breath to utter such words, Felix knows not. He can feel the boar’s arousal, though, as he snaps his hips against Felix’s ass, making him hold onto the railing for dear life. “None of them will ever touch you if I have my way. None of them will ever have you as I do, oh, Felix…”

Felix wants to turn around, wants to gather Dimitri in his arms, and kiss him senseless. He wants to see his eye, see his face when he cums, bite down on him in return. He wants to leave his own marks there, leave Dimitri desperate and wanting and _remembering_ him. 

But, the king’s thrusts are too hard, and he’s shoved against the railing. He’s certain that Dimitri could break it, send the both of them tumbling off if he wasn’t careful. But no, Dimitri’s hands are on Felix’s hips, keeping him secure and in place, driving him back down onto his cock, over and over again. Felix sees stars. “You’re mine, Felix. I don’t care what other miserable men you sleep with, you belong to me. You’ll always bear my mark, just as I will yours.”

Felix cries out, literally, tears falling from his cheeks. Dimitri is too much, sometimes. The words he says, the feelings that he sparks in Felix’s heart—they’re dangerous. They shouldn’t be said, not to Felix, not by Dimitri, but they linger in the air, and Felix goes dizzy with them. 

“Beg for me, Felix.”

And Felix begs. He begs, and he cries, and he calls himself a whore for his king. 

He strokes himself, and Dimitri slams into him. The sounds that Felix is making are too loud, too much, but he can’t stop himself. He spills into his hand, a wheeze on his lips. Dimitri fucks him through it, ever the diligent lover, making sure to hit all the parts inside Felix that make him shiver. He lets Felix breathe for a few seconds, and Felix’s hands relax from where they gripped the bars. He’s panting like an animal, and for a moment, he feels like he’s the boar.

The feeling makes him speak. “Go on, boar. Take what you want.”

With Felix taken care of, Dimitri thrusts into him with wild abandon. His hands grip Felix’s hips too tightly. He knows there’ll be bruises in the morning, the bruises he loves to see in the mirror. Dimitri is grunting, and Felix can’t help but moan along, his insides sensitive and aching. Having finished himself, Felix finds his mind enough to speak. “You want to own me, boar? Fucking show me.” Dimitri groans, and this. Goddess, Felix doesn’t think any man could fuck him this good. No one would thrust into him like this, no one would growl at him like this. “If you don’t break me, what’s the fucking point. Use me like a whore, boar.”

Dimitri’s noises are loud, and Felix can tell he’s getting close. “Mine.” Dimitri’s voice is dark, sinister. There’s that scratch to it that makes Felix’s spine shiver, makes him remember all those years ago, Dimitri alone in a monastery, unhinged. “You’re all mine.” Felix feels it. Somewhere, in him, deep, he knows it’s true. 

“Yours,” he murmurs, but can’t manage any more as the boar fucks inside him, so hard his voice catches on his breath.

“Felix, I— Mine, you’re. You’re so, I love you so, I—” And the boar grunts at him, spilling inside of him. He grips Felix’s hips so hard Felix fears he might crush him and holds him close, as deep, deep inside of him he floods his insides. Felix’s voice is shivery, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His body feels like he just fought a war, his legs shaking uncontrollably. 

Dimitri takes a few moments, breathing heavily over Felix, until he slowly, achingly pulls out. Felix can feel cum drip out of him, and then Dimitri’s fingers gathering it up, pushing it back inside. Felix feels used, destroyed, and his hole aches as he lets Dimitri stuff him full again. Dimitri helps Felix, lifting his leg off the railing and down for him, but even then Felix doesn’t feel like he’s standing on two feet. 

Dimitri helps Felix back into his trousers before he fastens his own pants back up. He kneels on the ground, dirtying his own suit as he does up all of the belts and straps of Felix’s boots, as delicately as he can manage. Felix is amazed that the boar knows the process so well. 

Felix realizes he hasn’t seen his king’s face in some time with the position they were in. He’s blushing red, his lips wet and a little swollen—he must have been biting them. His eye looks tired, and he’s beautiful. His hair is as messy as always. Looking at him, no one would know any better than to think he had a little much to drink or was nervous about his new wife. 

“I hope that will be enough of a reminder of who you belong to,” Dimitri says, and his voice is too warm, too gentle. He takes a hand, miraculously dry and warm, and strokes the side of Felix’s face with it. Where could so much gentleness come from? Dimitri looks at him, eye searching, but under such inspection, Felix can only look away. “I do not know what I did to deserve a man such as you, but I will keep you as long as the stars allow,” Dimitri says, and. It’s not poetic, it’s not smooth, it’s not even nice, and yet. Felix feels something in his heartache, and he wants to cry. “I want to hold you tight tonight, feel you fall asleep against my chest.”

And here it is. The things they cannot have. The promises that feel empty in Felix’s heart, the things that keep him awake, alone, at night. He shuts his ears off to them. 

Dimitri says something else, something unimportant, something Felix would rather not hear with his ears or his heart, and kisses him, gently. Then the king opens the door to the balcony and leaves.

Felix can only do so much to make himself presentable again. He can hike his collar up as much as he pleases, nothing will cover all the marks. He can smooth his hair, but its state of disarray cannot be fixed without a mirror. He can wipe his eyes and his mouth, but his face is still red. He breathes, though, now stable on two feet. The world is still spinning. He is still here, he is still Felix. 

The party inside is bustling, maybe louder than before. Somehow, Felix feels like everyone he walks past can smell the sex on him, can tell that there’s cum leaking from him and down his leg. The ballroom inside feels too yellow, lit by candles when the moonlight outside was so pale and pure. There are too many voices inside, and if any speak to him, he doesn’t notice.

Down the stairs, to the ballroom proper. His legs lead him more than his mind as he returns to his rightful spot beside the throne. Dimitri is already back, sitting next to his new wife, who is smiling and receiving congratulations on their marriage. The hand that had been inside Felix only minutes ago is now clasped over hers. Felix stands by the king’s right-hand side, and rests a hand, lightly on Dimitri’s large shoulder. 

Across the room, the beautiful Sreng man looks at him. The beautiful Sreng man wants him, and he is unsure whether he wants him back. Felix uses his free hand to flip his hair over his shoulder and leans his weight on the hand that’s on Dimitri’s shoulder, and his king supports him standing on his still-asleep leg as he shakes off the burn of pins-and-needles. 

Yes, yes. _This_ was right. He’d played many roles for Dimitri. He’d been his sword, his shield, his friend, his lover. Any position he can fill, any way he can keep Dimitri’s eye on him. He squeezes his king’s shoulder, and Dimitri looks away from his smiling wife, and up at him. _Good,_ Felix thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much if you managed to get through this angst fest!!! i haven't written fic in a while, so any positive feedback would be fantastic.
> 
> twitter: [@lawfulboi](https://twitter.com/lawfulboi)


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